You never can be too sure these days
by Mystiqbard
Summary: ... while the Elite remain mostly secretive about their operations, one thing is certain: they are not to be ignored. Jordan Collier has consistently refused to comment on what is believed to be a steadily growing opposition toward his own 4400 center...
1. Chapter 1

_**You never can be too sure these days**_

Disclaimer: The 4400 belong to USA network...

_A/n:_ Since I've only seen the first parts of the second series, that's where this could be set.

* * *

Ryan, Ben and Charlie MacLaine: The infamous MacLaine brothers as they were known. The three strolled into World of Coffees; a new and trendy café complete with plush red couches, steel tables and chairs, and a nice show of icono-classic pop art. They took their seats at the bar and ordered a coffee each. The vivid colours of the furniture and art were probably the drawing card of the café. Shafts of light streamed through the windows, hitting the wooden floor. The sound of a coffee grinder; the combined chatter of the customers, and the strong scent of varying flavours of coffee were not at all unpleasant. However, the brothers' company was.

The bell above the door gave a melancholic 'ping'. "Hot damn! Now there is a fine piece o' ass if ever I saw one." Ben exclaimed, tapping both brothers at either side of him as a woman walked to the bar counter to order. "You're looking pretty good there, sweetheart." She glanced at them, baring no expression in particular. They continued to eyeball her as she ordered. "No way you're that cold, baby. Come on over here, meet my brothers an' me." All three of them voiced their disappointment as made her way to the back section and promptly picked up one of the books on the rack.

Another 'ping'. Shawn Farrell seemed tired, stressed. "Can I just get a coffee." The waitress nodded and prepared his order. He brought out his money, absentmindedly looking around after he'd done so; his eyes resting on a woman who seemed immersed in the book which she held. She flipped through a few of the pages before setting the book down and moving to the counter, apparently to fetch the order that had just been made ready. "Excuse me." He called, following her out of the World of Coffees. "I couldn't help but notice the book you were reading inside..."

"I'd hardly call it reading," a slight accent. She smiled.

He agreed, and did the same. "I'm not usually in the habit of doing this, but are you?" He left the question open. "A 4400? It's just that you seemed so interested in it..."

"There were three men inside who were bothering me, I was trying to ignore them. And no, I'm not." She sipped her latte, steam rising from her lips once she did. "It's cold and I have to get going."

"Yeah, sure. Sorry about that."

"Not a problem." They said their goodbyes and he watched for a moment as she skipped across the street. He could've kicked himself for being so forward; having 4400 status was a dangerous thing to volunteer and even more so to a stranger who seemed overly curious. He shook his head as he walked to the car, and drove off, occupied in thought.

The whole scene had been observed by the brothers inside. "You boys recognise him?" Ryan asked, turning away from the window and looking to his two brothers; they nodded. "If I'm not mistaken, he's one of the 4400."

"And you sure as hell aren't." Charlie added. "What do you suppose we do about him?"

"We could do nothing, but then the rest of his kind might think that it's alright for them to come into our space; do as they like." Ben suggested.

"Doesn't sound too good, now does it?" Ryan asked. "We best do something about that."

_888_

Shawn stretched out on his double bed, still tired after a long nights sleep; although the night had run well into the day as he'd slept. His body was tired; he'd driven off another of Jordan Collier's 'Isabelle induced' migraines. The healing ability took its toll on him, especially an ailment that carried the strength of Jordan's migraines. He could only guess that he'd been allowed to sleep in, and the lack of a wake-up call seemed indicative of a 'thank you' from Jordan's side. He heard the rain beat against his window, thankful that he would spend the day warm and indoors. Shawn rolled out of bed and took a moment to rub his eyes, stretch out again, and plan for the rest of the day. His firm decision not to open his blinds seemed justified, since the day wasn't all that wonderful in the first place. As he moved to the bathroom, he remembered that no clients had been scheduled for the day, which suited him just fine. He had two piles of paperwork on his desk that needed tending to; today was a good day for just that. The toilet flushed, and he moved to the bathroom mirror, preparing his toothbrush as he inspected his reflection. His thoughts drifted from the extremely meaningless, to bordering on somewhat important, which was not uncommon when he just woke up. There was little variation to his morning routine.

_Knock. Knock._

"I'll be out soon, I just need to get dressed.!" He called.

"Open up, this is the police!" The voice behind the door ordered.

Shawn was startled. The entity of the police had never penetrated into the compound. "Yeah, alright." He opened the door, faced with five uniformed officers. "Is there something I can help you with, officer?" He asked, referring to the man he assumed shouted from behind the door.

"Yeah, you can come down to the station with us and answer a few questions." The officer was less than friendly, and with a name like Hindeman, displayed on his badge, Shawn could guess why.

"I don't understand. What's the problem?" asked Shawn.

"The problem is that I've got three men lying in the hospital; two of whom are in a coma, the other got his jaw broke." The officer began. "Now I've got a couple witnesses from the World of Coffees heard those three boys plan to come after you. That's the last anyone heard or saw of them until someone dialed in a 911 call yesterday evening." He looked down at Shawn's boxers. "Put some damn clothes on and let's go."

_888_

"Listen kid, I got three guys in the hospital and nine witnesses who've helped me piece together that you probably put them there!" Detective Ray Harris; loud, heavy set, and power hungry. "You'd better have a good explanation for your whereabouts yesterday afternoon, or we'll easily start building a case with you as our primary suspect. Now, what did you do after you left that coffee spot?" The detective asked.

"I took a long drive home." answered Shawn.

Harris looked him up and down. "That just isn't good enough. It takes fifteen minutes to get from the coffee shop to the 4400 compound; so tell me how long this 'long drive home' was."

He shrugged. "I honestly don't know, I wasn't paying attention to the time."

"You'd better start paying attention now. You'll be charged with voluntary manslaughter, at the very least. And if any one of the brothers die, it's murder." The detective had leant in close, close enough for Shawn to feel his breath on him. "Now stop assing around, and tell me what really happened."

The interrogation room door opened. The woman who entered was sharp, and bullshit ready; that you could tell just by looking at her. Hair pinned neatly back, suit crisp and clean, and make-up, baring the red lipstick she wore, kept to a minimum. "Detective Harris, my name is Rebecca Sandborne, Mr. Farrell's attorney. Unless my client is being charged, you're going to escort us out of this precinct now, and smile pretty while you do."

_888_

"Thank you, Mrs. Sandborne." Shawn shook hands with the attorney once he found Jordan's limo parked at the curb.

She nodded. "Don't thank me yet. Something tells me that they're on a witch hunt, and a member of the 4400 is about as close as their going to get to one in this day and age. The department will liaise with me from now on, so don't worry about that... unless their stupid enough to sidestep me in which case, contact me immediately." Rebecca handed him her business card. "We'll be in touch." With that, she left, and he got into the limo.

"This is nothing; we'll be done with it soon." Collier began as Shawn settled in, door closing behind him.

"Jordan, I didn't do what they think I did." He said.

Jordan waved away the statement. "I never believed for a moment that you did. All we have to do is make the police realise that; with such an obvious hatred for the 4400, we might have our work cut out for us." He reached to his inside jacket-pocket. "Mrs. Sandborne has assured me that she will contact us with the details of the case as soon as she has them, but until then, we have our own investigating to do. And we'll start here," Jordan held up his slim iPod. "This is a recording of the 911 call made."

"How did you..."

"I have my connections." Jordan played the recording:

_- Caller: Hello, hello! There are three men, hurt, in an alley way._

_- Dispatcher: Please slow down ma'am. I'm having difficulty understanding you._

_- Caller: Three men, injured in an alley. They are just off the corner of Washington and Mildred._

_- Dispatcher: Ma'am, it's important that you don't move them until the paramedics get there. Ma'am? Ma'am can I have your name?_

_- Caller: They don't have much time. They don't have much time. Dépechez vous._

The recording came to an end. "To tell you the truth, I think that we should start with her. I may not have an active ability, but I do have the gift of knowing people, and I know that that's not the sound of a passerby. Her voice, it's all over the place, like she's in shock, scared, afraid for her life maybe more than theirs." He paused, thinking. "I was told that the call was made from a payphone a block away. The fear in her voice, it wouldn't be there unless she witnessed the attack, or was involved in it herself. Either way, she's who we're looking for." Jordan looked at Shawn. "Shawn, what is it?"

He looked up at Collier. "I think I know that voice."

_888_

Gina Rourke - disappeared: 30 May 1997

Malik James - disappeared: 5 September 1992

Jonathan James - disappeared: 12 September 1992

Walter Edwards - disappeared: 26 March 1985

"I got a lead from an old friend; volunteers in the soup kitchen over at Green Pastures Shelter." Gina began, sinking into one of the seats in the lounge. "She reckons there are two people there who might be 4400s." The lights had been flickering on and off on occasion, throughout the evening, irritating all four of them to high hell.

"And how does she reckon that?" Walter asked, placing pins on the map which utilized an already covered display board.

"They don't fit, and a lot of the homeless guys are staying away from them." She explained. "If it turns out that they are 4400, getting them to join us will be that much easier. They've got nowhere to go, nobody that wants them; we're offering them everything that they don't have."

"Yeah they got a place t' go." Malik had been more or less quite for the past few hours, thinking about things and making sense of the whole plan. "That billionaire's offerin' every 4400 a roof over their heads and a job. Shit, that ain't gonna be easy t' compete with."

Gina glared at him. "We're offering them so much more, and all it takes is the ability to make them see what we see, make them think like we think." After a while, she grinned. "It's about time we start showing the human race just what we're capable."

_888_

Shawn greeted the faces he met on his way to Collier's office. His smile betrayed the load of thoughts weighing heavily on his mind. He hadn't been able to concentrate since he had come back; the stares he received from most, and the episodic power cuts, might have added to the feeling of unease. As he'd observed, the local police had never managed to enter the compound legitimately. Though he wasn't the only one that had realised this. 4400 or not, people are of a curios nature, and as human as it was, it did in fact piss him off. He greeted his last smiling face and turned into the corridor holding Collier's office.

"I think I should heal them." Shawn said, closing the door.

Jordan looked up from the contract he had been reading. "No."

"If we can't find this mystery woman, and they die, I've got a feeling the police are going to have a file thick with planted evidence and bullshit eyewitness reports." He was getting nervous. "They hate us, Jordan. They'd be happier getting me convicted of a crime I didn't commit, than actually finding the person who did."

"Shawn, don't you think I know that?" Jordan stood and made his way around the desk. "If you heal them, they'll take it as you admitting some kind of guilt. We've got to play things their way. Please, you have to be patient, and wait for whatever news we get, as it comes. I've got feelers everywhere, and a team of private investigators who are the best at what they do. If they can't find her, she doesn't exist."

He sighed. "Yeah... yeah I'll be patient." Shawn finally said.

The phone rang. Jordan answered, putting it on speakerphone. "Jordan Collier."

_"Mr. Collier, this is Dean O' Bryant from ST Investigators."_

"Hello, Dean. What do you have for me?"

_"We got you your prize, sir. We've found her."_

* * *

Continued...

_A/n:_ _My first 4400 fic. I'm normally an X-writer but I had a spur of the moment idea so I thought why not do something about it. The fic will only be a few chapters long, but there will be a host of new characters. This first chapter was Shawn centric, but the 4400 character-verse will expand in the next. Feedback isn't a must, but would be appreciated._

_The bard_


	2. Chapter 2

_**You never can be too sure these days**_

Disclaimer: The 4400 belong to USA network...

_A/n:_ Since I've only seen the first parts of the second series, that's where this could be set.

* * *

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

"Just a minute." There was activity from inside the apartment. "I'm so sorry Michael but I can't..."

Shawn stood, hands in pockets, outside of the familiar woman's apartment. "I need to talk to you." He said simply. There was a long silence between them as she thought, finally moving to one side to allow him in. Shawn had told Collier he needed to speak with her, alone; scaring her away was the last thing he wanted. He followed her through to the lounge, noting that most of the apartment was functional ; the bare necessities. She gestured for him to sit and wrapped her robe around herself before doing the same herself. "You look like you've been expecting me." He said.

She shrugged. "I never told you my name, or where I live; which means you tracked me down. Why?"

"I'm not buying it. If you didn't know why I was here, you would've asked before letting a total stranger into your apartment." He leant forward. "Three men were attacked the day before yesterday, and I think you know something about it."

"I don't."

"You placed the 911 call reporting the attack." Her eyes betrayed her for a moment. "I recognised your voice. I've seen the three men, or at least what they used to look like, and they were the same guys from the coffee shop where I met you. When we spoke outside, and I asked you about the book, you said three men were bothering you. I'd say it was coincidence," he looked into her eyes, "if I believed there was such a thing."

She ran a hand through her rich, black hair. "What do you want from me?"

"Answers would be nice. The police are trying to build a case and I think I might just be their prime suspect."

"Well," she began, standing and moving to let him out, "I don't have any so..."

He'd seen it coming, blocking her path. "Worst case scenario: I'm looking at murder. I'm usually not like this but somehow, when that thought keeps popping up in the back of my mind, I get a little anxious." She was silent as he looked down at her. It was obvious that his approach wasn't working, and to be honest, he wasn't sure he wanted it to. His expression changed as he tried to let go of his frustration. "Let's start over. My name's Shawn Farrell."

She seemed to relax as well. "Anäis." Anäis sat back down, watching as Shawn took the seat next to her. "I went back to the café a little while after we spoke. I was half way to a friends place when I realised that my coffee order wasn't right; it must've somehow gotten mixed up. On my way back, I saw the three of them... They were ganging up on... someone. I stayed back..." She stopped. "They started beating him up and then they pushed him into the alleyway. I heard them shouting about not wanting "freaks in their town", or something like that. The air got hot, and suddenly there was electricity or lightning or something but I didn't see what happened to them. The man ran, and I did the same."

Shawn was silent. "Was he a 4400?" She caught his brown eyes with her own of the same colour, and nodded. "Did you get a good look at the guy?"

"No, I'm sorry. I was... confused, I didn't know exactly what was going on and I got scared." Her phone rang. "Give me a minute?" She took the call in the kitchen, her voice could be faintly heard. _"Michael, pouvez-vous téléphoner s'il vous plaît plus tard ?Non, non, je suis bien. Au revoir."_

"Thank you, for speaking to me." Shawn said, standing as she came back. "I'm sorry to have bothered you this late."

She shook her head. "No, it's me that's sorry. I wish I could be of more help." They walked to the door, not managing to say much. "Shawn," she called, leaning her head against the door. "You seem like a very good person, and I'm sorry that you got caught in the middle of something that has nothing to do with you. If there's anything else that I can think of that might help you, I will come and talk to you at the 4400 center, _non_?" Anäis extended a slim brown hand. "It was nice to meet you."

"Likewise, but I wish it were under better circumstances." With a final wave, he turned and left.

_888_

Tom and Diana sat at The Mayan Café, at the table closest to the street corner. Lunch had been a joint decision, and much needed. The oddest thing about the restaurant at which they sat, was that it wasn't a café, nor did it serve Mayan cuisine; a fact which they seemed to point every time they dined there. "I mean, what is Mayan cuisine anyway?" Tom had remarked. The sky was cloudy and most of the days that had past were far from sunny and bright. There had been unusually frequent thunderstorms that the weather report seemed to not mention, so the weather had generally seemed to take a turn for the worst.

"Can I take your orders?" The waitress asked, readying her pen and notepad.

"Yes, you may." Tom smiled. He suddenly frowned. "Phone."

Diana smiled quizzically. "Somehow, don't think that's on the menu."

He pulled his cellphone out of his jean pocket and answered. "Tom Baldwin." He listened for a short while and then: "We won't be ordering anything." to the waitress. Tom motioned for them to leave and continued to listen as they walked to the car. "Okay, I'm going to put you on speakerphone." He told the caller, Diana closing her car door. "We're here."

_-We just got a call, suspected 4400 activity. _The voice belonged to Nina Jarvis, head of NTAC's Pacific Northwest Division Operations.

"Where?" Diana asked.

_-Mercantile Bank._ _Listen to me, this is serious. If the media get a hold of this, we're going to be so far up the creek, a paddle wouldn't do a damn thing._

The two agents looked at each other. "What exactly happened?" asked Tom.

_-You'll know when you get there._

"Oh my god." The trip to the bank had been pretty routine. The pleasantries and introductions had all been run of the mill. It was only once they were brought to the site in question that routine, and run of the mill pretty much took a vacation. Diana had to stop cold as she reached the volt of the bank; and it seemed that so did her partner. NTAC clean up and a few officers who had been the first on the scene, passed them as they stared at the area where the vault door used to be. The steel door had melted, and so had part of the wall. "Jarvis was right, this is a serious problem. I mean if it got out, every 4400 would be feared... even more than they are now."

Tom inspected the substances on the floor, and questioned the suited man who was collecting samples not too far from him. "What is this stuff?"

"Our first guess: steel and concrete, liquidized and reconstituted." The man said.

Tom let it sink in, and turned back to Diana. "Yeah, we've definitely got a problem."

_888_

"Can you be sure that she was telling the truth?" Jordan asked Shawn. "I'm all for having faith in people, but I'm cautious to take them at their word." He chalked his queue, took a brief few seconds to line up his shot, and took it. They'd taken to a game of pool in the early hours of the morning. Shawn couldn't sleep; he couldn't work either, so he'd muddled around at his desk for hours before Jordan had pulled him away. "I understand that all of this is overwhelming; something that most people will never have to face in their lifetime, even fewer at your age." Shawn took his shot. "She's the only link we have to what happened. Without her we're grasping at straws, at best. I don't know, maybe I should..."

"Jordan, drop it!" He finally shouted. "I know how bad things can get, or are you forgetting that it's my freedom on the line?"

Collier sighed. "I'm sorry if it seems like I'm hounding you, but you're important to everyone here." He chalked his queue again. "But more than that, I honestly don't want to see you behind bars."

"Thank you, but I handled it. We've just got to start looking somewhere else." Jordan nodded, and took his shot. He couldn't possibly know that Shawn's outburst had been the result of his own self-doubt. _Did I really handle it?_ He thought, watching the nine ball sink into the corner pocket.

"This man that she saw, she told you he was one of us?" asked Jordan.

"Yeah."

"I'd be interested to find out what ability he posses. If he did that to those three men... his gift is dangerous."

"Listen, I'm pretty tired out." Shawn said, rubbing his eyes.

"I thought you said you couldn't sleep." Matter-of-factly.

Shawn set his queue down and grabbed his jacket. "Night, Jordan." He got to the doors of the center, swung his coat on and turned up the collar. It was raining, seemed like it always was; luckily his place wasn't too far away, for obvious reasons. All of the chaos in his life couldn't have come at a worse time. Working with Jordan Collier had been the smartest decision he'd ever made, but his life hadn't gotten any easier. He'd been having spells of doubt: himself, Jordan, the 4400, all for different reasons. There was a point where he felt he was stagnating, a little boy playing at being a grown up. He wasn't a little boy, and he sure as hell wasn't intent on playing, but he didn't know how to shake off the security net that his job and position had handed to him. He had to grow up, fast.

He'd been so lost in thought, he didn't really remember the walk home. He let himself in, and made his way straight to his bedroom. The first order of business was finding a towel and getting out of his wet clothing. A sudden knock on the door interrupted his plans. Shawn checked the alarm clock on his nightstand: 01:52. _Jordan needs to give me space and let me think._ He walked to the door, shocked at the face that greeted him.

Anäis stood, shivering, in the doorway. Her clothing had been soaked through, and her make-up had failed to stand up to the rain. "I lied." She strode past him and brought her hands through her hair. "Don't say anything, not yet. I have to say what I'm going to say, and you, you have to just listen. I've gone over this a thousand times in my mind, so let me just say this, _s'il vous plaît_." Shawn nodded. "I didn't turn back to get a latté. There was no other man. They didn't gang up on _someone_, they ganged up on me. And, I lied about what I said I was." She said slowly, eyes closed. "I wasn't lying when I said I didn't _see_ what happened to them; I didn't... but I do _know._ I couldn't see because... They were following me from the café; when I tried to run, they caught up and cornered me in that alley. It was name calling at first, then they started asking me why I had been talking to you." Shawn stepped closer. "They said that I had been a 'bad girl' for flirting with... a freak. They said that they would have to show me a lesson; teach me what a real man, or three, feels like." He took another step, she backed away, trying hard to slow her breathing. "They... he pushed me down and climbed on behind me, held my face down on the tar..."

"Anäis..."

"I kept my eyes closed..." She trailed off as he took another few steps closer. "I didn't mean to hurt them that way, and I'm sorry that you're involved." Anäis dropped to the floor, her legs giving way from beneath her. Tears welled in her eyes, bringing them to glisten in the dim light, but stopped short of falling.

"No, I'm sorry." He tried to comfort her, cradling her body as it shook in his arms. "I'm so sorry."

* * *

Continued... 


	3. Chapter 3

_**You never can be too sure these days**_

Disclaimer: The 4400 characters aren't mine.

_A/n:_ Since I've only watched up to the beginning part of season 2, that's when it's set.

* * *

Diana Skouris and Tom Baldwin stepped into what was by now, familiar territory. A team of the best and brightest theorists that NTAC had to offer had made this preverbal hole-in-the-wall, theirs. Copies of files and scraps of papers leant haphazardly here and there, lacking any system of organisation. The two, tiny trash cans that stood close to the grouped desks overflowed with candy bar wrappers and day old scraps of food. The white board and pin boards had been covered in red, blue and green marker; and map print outs as well as photographs and sketches respectively. The only thing that had been kept more or less pristine, was the flat screen mounted on the wall. To the untrained eye, this was a mess, pure and simple. But then again, the untrained eye wouldn't be working at NTAC, now would they.

"Judging by the amount of M&M and Snickers wrappers, I'd say you boys have been hard at work." Tom said, closing the door behind him.

"Tell us you've got something." Sighed Diana; both she and Tom had been anxious to get going on the case

Marco grinned naughtily. "I've always got something for you, Diana." Tom rolled his eyes, the action going unnoticed by either of the two. "Okay, we got the results from the samples taken at the bank. They're pretty weird, but then again, what isn't in our line of work, right?" He got up and ruffled through a couple of files before finding the results he was looking for. He handed it over to Diana as he continued to explain. "The door was made of steel, right? Steels all undergo a considerable amount of industrial treatment; depending on what it's going to be used for, so the processes differ. We pulled up the specs on the processing of the model of the vault door, and matched the chemical analysis of our sample, with that of the treated steel."

"And?" Asked Tom.

"And... they're different. You see, the after having been melted and molded, the steel sets and is treated with chemicals for various reasons, like Teflon coating for instance. The sample contains trace amounts of the chemicals and the constituents separated, meaning that they evaporated. The steel was melted."

Diana handed the file over to Tom. "But what could melt such a large area, in such a short space of time?"

"The equipment needed for that kind of operation... well, let's just say you'd definitely see it coming into a bank. And, it gets even stranger." He handed her another file. "The concrete around the vault, was also melted down. The sample was made up of the constituents of concrete, you know, cement, gravel, sand and water, but they'd reformed incorrectly; kinda like someone throwing a whole lot of ingredients into a boiling pot but not stirring them together."

"And the only way this melting pot affect could occur is if the steel and concrete had been melted?" Tom asked. Marco dug his hand into his pockets and nodded. "Do you have any theories on what might've done the job?"

"Yeah. A 4400."

Tom and Diana left the Theory Room, navigating the twists and turns of the bureau's corridors in unison. "There's over eleven million dollars missing from that vault. If word got out that the 4400 have branched out into bank robbery, the press will have a field day." Diana said, shaking her head

"We were lucky that there weren't too many customers. The bank employees said they got taken into the bank manager's office, so they didn't see anything that could give the press ammunition." Tom stopped, Diana taking a moment to notice that he did. She turned back. "Who would need that kind of money?"

"Who wouldn't?"

"I think this might have something to do with Jordan Collier."

Diana laughed. "Are you serious? Tom, the guy's a billionaire! Eleven million dollars would barely cover the cost of one of his paintings."

"It's just money, Diana, and money can always run out." He continued to walk. "I want to take a look at his financial records."

"Tom, there's no way Jarvis is going to give us the go-ahead on that."

"Well, let's find out, shall we?"

_888_

"No." Nina Jarvis said simply and coolly. "There's no way you're touching Jordan Collier, do you understand me?" Tom stood, hands on hips, in front of her desk. Diana had her back against the door frame; she hadn't really seen a point in making her way to the desk since she knew they were going to get kicked out for even proposing the idea. Tom was about to speak when Nina cut him off with a gesture of her hand. "He's the public face of the 4400, fast becoming a cult icon, and a billionaire with countless ties in the business world. We are not asking for his financial statements based on the hunch of an agent. If you're wrong, this operation will be nothing more than a distant memory and I'm not quite ready for that yet."

"It's just that..."

"Agent Baldwin, if I need a good joke, I'll go online and download a few facts about Chuck Norris. Now get back to the job that you're paid to do, and next time you come into this office, bring me something that isn't laughable."

_888_

"_Pardon_, could I speak with Mr. Ferrell?" Anäis asked the receptionist. The usual exchange took place; the secretary asked her name and what her business was; Anäis answered the first truthfully, the second, not so much. She was asked to take a seat while she waited, and offered a cup of coffee, which she declined. It seemed odd to her, that such a young man already had people working under him, his own office, and it would seem, a great amount of respect from his colleagues. Anäis continued to wait, finally noticing activity from the office and greeting the gentleman that had just left Shawn's company. The secretary motioned for her to go in; her eyes traveled the length of Anäis disheveled appearance and her expression seemed less than approving.

Anäis stepped into Shawn's office, waving smugly to the secretary before closing the door. "I could be wrong, but your secretary doesn't think much of me." She said.

Shawn sat on the edge of his desk. Seeing him for the first time, clad in his tailored suite, gave her some insight to his business persona: it suited him well. "Might have something to do with the fact that your clothing is a couple of sizes too big for you. It makes you look a little..." He couldn't find the suitable words.

"Scruffy." She ended for him. She'd found the jeans and sweatshirt on the edge of his bed; he'd left them there knowing that her clothing wouldn't hang dry quickly enough. "Thank you, for giving me your bed for the night, and your clothing for the day... however scruffy it makes me look." She smiled, pulling at the large sweatshirt. "I don't deserve it after everything I've caused for you."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

He hadn't found a way to ask her the night before. "What exactly did you do to those guys?"

There was a moment where she felt the urge to turn and leave; questioning whether she could trust him. But then: he was the prime suspect for a crime she'd committed, and she hadn't woken to the sounds of police sirens outside of his house. She owed him an explanation. "It didn't used to happen so often. But lately... I can't control it very well." _Pause._ "I don't know exactly how it works, all I can say is, it's energy." Shawn frowned, not understanding. "I can sense it; where it is, what kind it is and change it." She realised she wasn't doing a good job of explaining. "The smaller the concentration of energy, the bigger the concentration of mind. That's what I keep telling myself."

There was a knock at the door. "Mr. Farrell, your two o' clock is running ten minutes late."

"Thanks, Amy."

"I'd better get going." Anäis said, discarding the conversation and moving to leave. "I wanted to thank you, for everything."

His expression turned; she hated that look. Pity. "Anäis, what you told me... I can't imagine..."

"Forget about it. I've never been a victim in my life, and I don't intend to start playing one now." She said quickly. "I just came to thank you, and tell you that after I sort myself out, I'm going to the police this afternoon to confess."

"You don't have to do that."

"Yes, I do. I won't let my problems become yours." She was adamant.

"That's great, except they weren't your problems in the first place." Shawn motioned her to sit at the couch at the far wall of the room, and sat on his haunches in front of her once she did. "There were witnesses at the café who heard the three brothers planning to come after me. If I hadn't spoken to you, they never would've had a reason to... I drove, you walked; they found you first. It's my fault they did this to you. If they'd found me first... they wouldn't have touched you."

She shook her head. "No, Shawn, that's not logical. You don't know that they wouldn't have done the same thing, even without me meeting you. Most rape cases aren't one of the 4400. I've avoided this long enough; I'm going to the police."

"If they believe I'm the prime suspect, they won't find anything to convict me other than a couple of witnesses that say those were coming after me. I didn't commit a crime, so they won't find any evidence." He didn't tell her about his sneaking suspicion that if they didn't find evidence, they'd plant it. "The police don't want justice, they want a 4400 convicted of murder. What you did was self-defense, but they won't see it that way. They don't understand our gifts. How difficult it can be to control them. they'll think you did it on purpose."

"Not every police officer is out to get us. They just want to find out who hurt those three men."

"Anäis, you can't confess. If you're convicted of murder, every one of the 4400 will be a target; a potential murderer. People fear what they don't understand." He took her hand. "I can get the best lawyers money can buy, I'll be fine. Just let me do this." He wasn't sure what he was asking for, wasn't sure whether he could handle it, but it was the one thing he'd felt he could take control of. He didn't know her very long, but he felt something in her; pride, strength, both; and admired it. Her eyes were penetrating, questioning, and perhaps she was just as unsure as he was. "Just let me do this." He repeated; a whisper. With a thoughtful bite of her lower lip, she squeezed his hand.

"Shawn, I need to..." Jordan had strode in, suddenly caught by the scene in front of him. "Am I interrupting something?"

Shawn moved away from her and let her stand. She squeezed his hand once more and walked to Jordan, and the door. "Jordan Collier, and you are?" He extended a hand.

"Anäis, and on my way out." She shook his hand and smiled. "I'm sorry to have disturbed you." With one last look at Shawn, she left.

"I've got a meeting in five minutes." He wanted to avoid hearing what Jordan had to say. Aside from the fact that he probably misread what he had just seen, his plan to help Anäis probably made more sense to him than it was ever going to make to his mentor.

"Don't worry Shawn, I'm not going to ask you what she's doing here, or what she's doing in your clothing. I'm not going to ask when, between now and two o' clock last night, she got here and how she managed to escape detection by the compound cameras and guards who would've reported and documented the entry of an unknown woman at such a time. I'm not going to ask you any of those questions... yet." Jordan handed Shawn a piece of paper protected behind sealed plastic. "It's a ransom note."

"For the compound?" He asked as he read. "Twenty million dollars?"

"Mercantile bank was robbed early yesterday morning." Jordan said, walking over to pour himself a glass of water. "Ten million dollars was taken."

"Mercantile?" The question was more to himself than Jordan. "They had ten million dollars?"

Jordan took a few much needed sips and shook his head. "Mercantile is just a name. It's a standard savings and loan, they could easily carry that amount. Problem is, the same people who robbed that bank, are now blackmailing us. They're 4400s. If I don't give them the twenty million; nothing that we've worked so hard for, will be safe. They've threatened to expose themselves as a group of the 4400, following my orders. If they do..."

"Yeah." Shawn said simply. "But we can't pay them."

"I know." Jordan moved to the window, and watched as the yellow cab Anäis had stepped into, drove off.

Shawn had to set aside his previous thoughts, and focus on what all of it meant. It seemed that fate had it in for the 4400. "My Uncle Tom." He said finally.

"We are not getting NTAC involved."

"Think about it Jordan: NTAC will figure out that they're one of us sooner or later, and they'll investigate. If they can find, them and stop them, we'll all get what we want."

"NTAC just want lab rats to experiment on." said Jordan.

"So you're gonna do nothing? They're blackmailing us, and if they're violent, they could hurt people."

Jordan lifted a brow. "You don't seem to have a problem with the violent aspects of certain 4400s." He said ambiguously.

"Say what you want, but working with NTAC to weed out a group that is clearly not just trying to survive, seems like a better option than having the 4400 center exposed as a cover for criminal activity."

Jordan ran a hand through his lengthy dark hair. He had changed from his usual charismatic character, to a man weighed heavily with decisions that needed making. He was angry; he'd never been played into a corner, he always did the playing. There was a way out, there had to be, but he didn't have enough time to find it. The letter had said to have the money ready by the next day. He couldn't take the chance that they would follow through on their threat. The press would lavish the chance to stir controversy and create chaos; any man of success, was a man to be robbed of it. "Call him."

* * *

_Continued..._


	4. Chapter 4

_**You never can be too sure these days**_

Disclaimer: The 4400 belong to USA network...

_A/n:_ Since I've only seen the first parts of the second series, that's where this could be set.

* * *

It had taken a lot of detective work to find the place that he now made his way to. The first problem had been that it didn't exist, not officially anyway. He knew that the only way to handle the situation would be to meet her himself. He followed the directions he had been given, winding and twisting through side roads and back alleys. Finally, he came to a flight of stairs leading down to the side entrance of a dilapidated building. He reached a heavy, steel door; knocked. It took some persistence, actually a lot of persistence, before a pair of dull eyes peeked out from behind a small rectangular opening. 

"What?"

"I want to come in." He answered, flashing a hundred dollars in front of the slot. The eyes laughed, so did the voice that had questioned him. He added an extra five hundred dollars and cocked his head to one side. The bouncer moved his hand in front of the slot, motioning for him to raise the price. The door opened, and he greeted a heavily built bouncer, gesturing for his money. The bouncer pointed him on, and he followed the long, narrow corridor until reaching another flight of stairs. He began to hear the faint beginnings of music, the bass seemingly shaking the walls. Low lights, lounge music, and a crowd of over-drugged, good-timers that didn't seem to care less about the comings and goings of others. He caught glimpses of people; familiar faces, famous faces. He moved to the bar.

The bartender approached him, shaker in hand. "Anything I can help you to?"

"A woman."

"Sorry, but I don't handle that. Franco's the guy you want, he's up in the VIP section." The young barman pointed the it out.

He made his way to the section. It didn't take much to find Franco; he was the wise-ass that seemed to spend all his time keeping the guests happy. As soon as Franco spotted him, it was all smiles. "Sir, it's great to meet you." Was his simple greeting. "The VIP lounge is your playground. We've got everything a man of your position could possibly want, and I do mean that. We cater to every need, every time, without fail, so ask and ye shall receive." Noticing his only response was an impatient stare: "Where the fuck are my manners; I'm Franco, the alpha and omega for you in this club. There's nothing I don't know, nothing I can't do." He said, allowing him in.

"I need to find a woman."

"Done. See anything you like?" Franco gestured to the women already decorating the plush couches, already having been, chosen, by men and women alike. "Or do you have more specific tastes?"

"Tall, about 5"11, brown eyes, brown skin, black hair."

Franco paused for a moment, "Sure, I'll see what I can do," and left.

The club seemed more like a tribute to old Roman times; the wealthy were waited on hand and foot, and allowed all the pleasure and debauchery that would make an average man envious. But he was not an average man, and the times had begun to change. He felt fingers trace across his back and turned to face a less than lucid woman. "So, is this your first time here cause I haven't seen you here before?" She'd slurred a few of her words, and was struggling to keep her eyes on him. "You should know that I don't mind doing, whatever." She shrugged, looking him up and down.

"So sorry to keep you waiting, _mon chéri_." Anäis brought her hand to his cheek, and kissed the other, softly. "Veronica, take the rest of the night off." The woman clenched her jaw, not moving. "Veronica, take the rest of the night off, or don't bother coming back again." She whispered to her. Veronica took one last look, and stormed off. "There must be a reason why you're here."

"Can we speak in private?" Jordan asked.

She leaned in; her lips hovered above his ear. "Follow my lead." Anäis pulled back, smiled at him seductively, took his hand and led him through the gauntlet of bodies that stood between them and the back of the club.

"Woa, beautiful people: wherever you're going, I'm beggin' you to take me with you." Another famous face, albeit a somewhat drunken one. He blocked their way to the private rooms. "Come on; I'll get us a couple of drinks, a few pills, see what happens."

"Sorry, Bryce, but this is a private party." She pushed passed him, finally reaching the closest room.

"You painted a pretty different picture of yourself to Shawn." Jordan began, looking around the room and noticing the soft furniture and couch that bordered on a bed.

She crossed her arms and pursed her lips; back against the door. "I'm no whore, Jordan, and I never painted any picture. Shawn believes what he wants."

"Apparently he believes that it's his duty to take the blame for something you did."

"What exactly do you _think_, you know?"

"I know a 4400 when I see one. Something in them has changed, something is different." He moved toward her, burning her eyes with his own. "It's a look; the look of someone who no longer sees the world in the same light. Someone marred, changed by circumstance and reluctant to except it. But more than that, I know the look of someone who's killed; held life and chosen to end it." He moved still closer, closing her off, confining her against the door. "The eyes speak volumes; they truly are the windows to the soul. The eyes of a killer are strong, powerful, all encompassing. The eyes of a killer show intent, determination to do whatever it takes. I see the change, and your eyes, however beautiful they may be... I know those eyes."

"I didn't mean to hurt those men." She whispered.

"I believe that... but those eyes are older than what happened last week." He strode away, "Shawn does not know what he's doing, he's even refused my help. Now understand that not only do I treat him like a son, as far as I'm concerned, he might as well be. I will not let my heir go to prison for a crime he didn't commit." He paused. "Shawn told me, you used your ability to defend yourself."

Anäis nodded. "If I tell you, will you keep my name from the police, and help Shawn even though he doesn't want you to?"

"How about you show me."

"No." Without hesitation.

Jordan was slightly angered by the response. "You're not in a position to bargain."

"But I am in a position to spare your life. I can't control this... curse. And I _won't_ be responsible for hurting you, or worse."

"Fine, then I propose a trade: You come to the center, and let me help you gain control. Let me help you turn your curse into a blessing."

She raised a brow. "What do you get out of it?"

"If your ability is as erratic as you say it is, then it's only my duty to keep you from harming others."

"That's not an answer." Anäis said quickly. "Alright, what about Shawn?"

"Do you really think that I wouldn't help him?" He stalked back to the door, reaching around her to open it. "The Center, tomorrow morning at ten."

Anäis leant back and slammed the door. "I see in your eyes, the same thing that you see in mine." That said, she moved to one side and let him pass.

_888_

"Things aren't moving fast enough, and it's making me extremely anxious." Gina said, crossing the large den and pouring herself a glass of water.

"We have to wait." Walter countered, turning back from the fire place and adjusting the ring on his finger. They had retired to the den of their newly bought base of operations. There were rooms enough for Malik, Jonathan, and Amelia and Grace, their newest additions. The entire house had been furnished to a warm and cozy setting, masking the intent of the occupants. Both of them had assumed a kind of joint command; their histories made it inevitable. "Incase you haven't noticed, we don't have much choice in the matter."

She shook her head. Gina wasn't used to such a chain of command; having her life dictated according to the remote orders of a man that she had known for less than a few months. She owed Him much, but her gratitude was wearing thin, and she had yet to find any cause for loyalty. "He shouldn't be making the decisions, we should. What does He know about being a 4400? What is His wealth of knowledge, compared to ours?" She moved to him. "What does He know about strategy and politics?"

"He knows about power!" He shouted, silencing her. "And that, is what we ultimately want. He can offer us a share of that, far more than any of the other 4400s could dream of." Walter ran a hand through his graying hair. Gina's youth clouded her rationality. Neither of them had any hopes for a substantial future until He had come along. Walter remembered it clearly: He'd just run out of money to pay for his room at the cheap motel on the city outskirts; suffice it to say that people weren't in the business of hiring a 4400 with his credentials. A man had approached him as he left his room, and given him an envelope. In it, were ten, hundred dollar bills, and a note: I CAN OFFER YOU THIS, AND MORE. Walter called the number that was typed at the end of the note, and the rest was history.

Gina's story was much the same, as was Jonathan and Malik's, two brothers whose abilities worked in tandem. "Why won't he speak to us face to face? Can we not be trusted?" Walter shrugged, though his eyes betrayed, something. "What is it?" She asked. "Tell me."

"We'll be receiving another addition soon." Gina raised a brow. "All of us have been positioned."

"Positioned? For what?"

"You should be asking: for who?" He fiddled with his ring again. "We're custodians, until he tells us otherwise."

Her eyes widened. "I am nobody's pawn!" She was overcome with anger, spun and stormed out of the den.

"You're all too wrong, Gina. All 4400 of us, are nothing but pawns."

_888_

"I'll be honest here; getting a call from Jordan Collier was just about the last thing I was expecting." Diana told Tom; both of them having just left the car.

"It was Shawn that called, and I wonder whether Jordan even knows we're coming."

"I don't see a troop of heavily armed security guards yet." They took the all too familiar path into the 4400 center and announced themselves. The pleasantries were so sugar coated it made the agents sick. It might've been less obvious to tag each of them with a flashing neon badge spelling 'unwelcome'. They were left in the center's primary conference room and waited for some time before being met by Shawn.

"Hey Uncle Tom, how're you doing?" He shook hands with him and they exchanged an honest embrace. "Hi." He shook hands with Diana.

"So, you wanted to see us?" Diana asked, smiling.

"Yeah, we're just waiting for Jordan." There was an awkward silence for moment. "So, how's Kyle doing?" Asked Shawn.

Tom nodded. "He's doing alright. Everyone's fine." Silence. "And how're you doing?"

"I'm good."

Jordan strode in just as Shawn answered. "Tom, Diana." He greeted them both with a firm handshake. "I'm sorry to have wasted your time but unfortunately this meeting is not necessary."

"But Shawn told us..."

"I'm very much aware of what Shawn told you, Agent Baldwin, and now I'm telling you. I have a meeting in a few minutes, Anna will escort you out." As if on cue, his newly appointed PA entered and smiled. "Again, my apologies." He strode out of the conference room, followed by an apologetic Shawn. "Not now, Shawn." Jordan said, sensing the young man behind him.

"What the hell was that? You just made me look like an idiot." He shouted.

"Thank you for calling them, but we no longer need their assistance. I haven't exhausted all of our options yet."

"Well if you've got a plan, you mind filling me in?" The question was asked with a noticeable amount of venom.

"Not yet."

Shawn pulled his arm and spun him around. "Why the hell not, we're partners; equals."

"No, we're not!" Jordan pulled his arm free. "You are _my_ protégé, _my_ son, and without a doubt, an exceptional prodigy. One day, you'll pass anything I could ever hope to achieve; a superior, not an equal, but today is not that day." He held Shawn's face between his hands, fixing his eyes on him. "You're not done learning You still need to follow, and in time, learn to lead."

"I'm not a child."

"No, you're not, which is why you are my right hand. But don't forget, that I still lead." He moved away. "I'll tell you when the time is right." And left.

_888_

Shawn paced the stage of the center's auditorium. The sound of shoes hitting the wooden boards would normally ring clear in the empty space but, his socks did not have the same effect. He came here to think, usually after the center had closed and most of the staff had gone home. It bothered him that he had been coming here more often; dwelling on the same thoughts and coming to no head with any of them. He rolled his neck, shoved his hands into his pockets. He felt like shedding it all, the person, the suite; it was clear that his place was as a second. But for how long? Jordan thrived on his ability to control; he wouldn't willfully hand the reigns to him without a share of that control, and knowing that, he would be second until the day Jordan died. Was this frustration, confusion, or greed? Shawn wondered.

"You look good up there."

Shawn looked up; Anäis was standing in the aisle of seats leading straight down the middle of the hall. He found himself mesmerized by her image. "Thank you." He grinned. Why did he find himself so captivated? "You don't look too bad yourself."

She walked to the stage as he moved and sat at its edge. "Strange, I know that look instantly when I see it on another, but it took me too long to recognise it on myself." Anäis said, folding her arms on the stage and resting her chin on them. "Self-doubt, searching for... something."

"It's not that heavy."

"Isn't it?" She looked up at him; _Those eyes_, he thought.

He had to look away, and he stared straight ahead. "I can handle it."

"I haven't known you for very long Shawn, but what I do know, is that you are a good person. It radiates from every part of you. There's an innocence that you posses, and that is where you and Jordan differ." He gave her a curious look. "That is who your mind struggles with, besides you, isn't it?" It was more of a statement than a question. "Your doubt is what holds you back. Some doubt is understandable, it should always be won out by your character; and yours is a strong character. You need to stop relying on Jordan's and start listening to your own." She sighed. "I heard you and Jordan arguing earlier. I was near his office, was supposed to be in it."

"You came to see Jordan today?" He asked.

"I never did. I left." She propped herself up and rested her cheek against her open palm.

"Why?"

"An epiphany. Call it, an affirmation of self."

He looked down at her; creamy brown skin against the simple white dress she wore. "You're talking in riddles... and it sounds like you were a shrink in your former life." Shawn laughed.

She didn't seem to take to his humour. Anäis moved away. "You don't know anything about me before the day we met."

"Whoa, what's with the defenses?" He jumped down.

"Everything has been taken care of. It was best that I sort out my own problems, I should've realised that from the start." She said, her voice strong, final. Before he could ask she silenced him with a finger to his lips. "I've been struggling with who I am, struggling like you, since the abduction. It took a friend to make me understand that I wasn't the person I pretended to be. There are forces at work here, forces that counter and balance. You're one side of that balance, I, am the other."

"Anäis, you're scaring me. Stop being so goddamn cryptic and just tell me what you're on about." He searched her face, studied the emotions there.

"Why? What difference would it make to you?"

"It would... make a difference." He himself wasn't sure why. "I don't understand, what's wrong? What's changed?"

She laughed, a laugh that grated against her beauty, a sinister laugh. It was the first time he'd felt uneasy around her. "No, you don't understand. Nothing has changed, and now everything's right." Anäis held his eyes with hers. Again, he felt helpless. She moved to leave, but it was her final words that sent a chill down his spine. "I pretended to be a good person... but I never was."

_888_

The clock on the wall of the office ticked away. Tom and Diana stared at the papers in front of them. Tom tapped his pen on the desk, Diana her finger; both immersed in thought.

"Are you getting the feeling that we're muddling away at something we just can't piece together?" He referred to the unsolved robbery, and the mysterious report of three boys who'd been electrocuted.

"There might be a connection, we just can't see it."

"Something else is going on here."

"What do you mean?" Diana asked.

"I can't quite describe it." Tom replied.

"You feel like something big is coming, but you can't explain why you do. No evidence points toward it, and if anybody asked, you'd call it a hunch."

"Seems _you_ can describe it pretty well." He dropped his pen, and rubbed his eyes.

"So what do we do?"

"Right now? What can we do?"

_888_

_Mercantile Bank was the victim of a most unusual robbery. Sources within the bank say that the vault door had melted open. There is speculation that it could be the work of members of the 4400._

_8_

_... where the last of the MacLaine brothers has just passed away. Ryan MacLaine outlived his two brothers by one month and had been fighting for a month and a half after a vicious attack left him and his two brothers severely injured. Before his passing, he managed to inform the police about the specifics of the attack stating that he and his brothers were surprised by a seemingly 'normal' woman. The air became hot, and flashes of light appeared; those were his last memories before waking up in Mercy hospital. And I quote: "She was one of them 4400". Ryan, Benjamin and Charles MacLaine are survived by their parents: Emily and Jonathan MacLaine._

_8_

... _rioting has begun at the gates of the 4400 compound founded by billionaire business man Jordan Collier. A recent surge in dormant 4400 activity has caused a public outcry. As the figure head of the 4400, many believe that Mr. Collier holds answers..._

_8_

_The world came to a standstill today as a group, dubbed 'the Rogues', injected the internet as well as hijacked major television broadcast networks, with a message stating the group's intent, as well as a call to arms for every member of the 4400. The spokeswoman for the group informed the world of their plan to bring the 4400 to power, stating that they had been singled out and chosen for a purpose..._

_8_

_... tensions rise as the group, now being called 'The Elite', reveal the growth of their membership base. So far, it is believed that every member posses active abilities, which are perfected through rigorous training by the group's director..._

_8_

_... while the Elite remain mostly secretive about their operations, one thing is certain: they are not to be ignored. Jordan Collier has consistently refused to comment on what is believed to be a steadily growing opposition toward his own 4400 center..._

* * *

End 

_A/n:_ Not sure whether this fic is receiving any attention, so I'm going to end it here. If there are any people who would in fact enjoy the continuation of the story, I'll begin the next installment. This is a vague wrapping up of the events of the story, and if the next installment goes ahead, more of the show's set characters will be utilized, each of the Elite and their relationships, and the intentions of the group will be explored more deeply. My hope is to create an opposition for Jordan and his plans. Again, please let me know if it's worth carrying on (as I mentioned, I'm new to it all so I don't know if the story works), if not, this ending more or less leaves it to the reader, and the news reports give you an idea of where things are headed.

P.S: Thanks for the crit PurpleYin, much appreciated!


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